That Damned Cat
by JanieNine
Summary: Argus Filch is a man described only by his cantankerous nature and beloved cat. The Harry Potter books do not examine the causes behind the miserable man that is Hogwart's caretaker, or those behind why he is a squib. This story does.


A/N: Disclaimer: Obviously for HP, but also for Edgar Allen Poe's _The Raven_. I tried to italicize all parts of the story that were in the poem, but remember that other parts of the story are italicized as well. And I hope you guys all like this, because it was kinda hard for me to write. I've never written something that involves other works before, and I think this is kinda interesting. I also want to know what you guys think about a happier Filch. :)

Mr. Argus Filch once again poured over his favorite volume of forgotten lore, at least lore forgotten by wizards. Edgar Allan Poe had come into fashion very briefly before he, and his works, had faded from wizarding consciousness altogether. Of course, that excepted Mr. Filch, who once more leafed through his well-worn volume of Poe's complete works until he found one page, thinner than the rest from wear. He felt the now-silky material between his fingers, as if rubbing the characters inside the page to life. « Oh, my sweet, » he murmured, petting Mrs. Norris with one hand and the book, as if a living entity ,with the other. Perhaps to him, on a night so auspicious for spirit-speaking as this Walpurgis Night, petting the book might not be such a far stretch from a reality. After all, words did bring books to live, and there were never more spirits contained in a work than in one of Edgar Allan Poe.

_« Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, »_ Mr. Filch read to himself, smiling just enough for Mrs. Norris to know he was happy but for everyone else to think he was just a little less miserable. Perhaps if students saw him they would believe he had just assigned a particularly gruesome punishment for the students.

He continued down the lines of poetry as he thought about the fire around him, the warm mug of tea on his side table next to the moth-eaten armchair that took up most of his front room, the quiet purring of his cat in the corner.

_Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—_  
_ While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,_  
_As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door._  
_"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—_  
_ Only this and nothing more."_

_ Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;_  
_And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor._  
_ Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow_  
_ From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—_  
_For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—_  
_ Nameless here for evermore._

Mr. Filch's heart beat faster, only a couple stanzas until…  
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"  
« This I whispered, » he said softly, « and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"— Merely this and nothing more. » His voice cut off with a hollow thud.

Her name was never Lenore, much as he tried to make her into that fictional spirit of Poe's so that she might torment Poe instead. Evangeline Marina Norris could never be made into any spirit but his, much as he tried. When she left, she took his magic with him, and tormented him with it, just as she tormented him with her spirit.

_« Argus! Argus, please talk to me. Please find me outside your chamber door. I'm waiting you know, » she said like a wind passing by his ear. At least, he thought she said that. Didn't she?_

_« You're like that damn raven! » he shouted to the empty air. He felt ridiculous shouting all of a sudden, but couldn't resist adding in a broken voice so forlorn it might rival that of Poae's narrator, « Just leave me be. »_

_Argus Filch shut his eyes and tried to block the images that formed as if coming to him in rapid-fire in one of those newfangled Muggle contraption weapon things. He thought they might be called guns or some ridiculous such name. _

_« Argus! Come catch me! You know you want to, » shouted the woman as she tore free of his grasp and ran down the hill to the Hogwarts Black Lake. _

_« Of course, dearest. But how would you like me to catch you, m'lady? » he called, tucking his thumbs into his suspender straps. The two always wore Muggle clothing on their dates, since it suited her fancy. And anything that suited her fancy suited his fancy. He loved to see her smile, especially that moment just as she broke into the grin, where he could first see her teeth and he knew her lips would only part more and more until her lips framed two perfect rainbows around her teeth. _

_« On your knees, sir! To even think of accosting a young lady! » Evangeline called as she approached him back up the hill, swinging her parasol by her left leg. She stood in front of him then, feet planted equally apart, and knighted him as he knelt before her. « Now a knight surely cannot treat a lady with such disrespect, can he? »_

_« Only a queen can knight a man so callous as me, » Argus began, « but of course, with your beauty, only royalty would befit you. »_

_Evangeline smacked his shoulder lightly, or so she thought. Argus rose as she rubbed it. « You know I'm not as pretty as all that, » she said and averted her eyes._

_« Oh but I know no such thing, dearest love, » he said as he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her close to him, until the two were the epitome of Victorian love in a transcendental scene. _

_The staff of Hogwarts, even Armando Dippet the newly appointed headmaster, watched them with smiles on their faces. Mr. Filch was such a pleasant man after all._

Mr. Filch felt a single tear run down his left cheek as he closed the book. Perhaps he wouldn't finish the poem today. He usually didn't, on these annual rituals where haas supposed to read the book. « Funny how I can seem to get through it any time but when I'm supposed to, » he said. But perhaps he kept from finishing because she could never seem to finish either. She would come so close to finishing every time, but she couldn't do it. For Evangeline, finishing a poem felt like opening the door and finding the wind and nothing were the stuff of dreams, Filch and Evangeline, and so Filch closed the book. Only this, and nothing more.

He heard a light mewing sound from the animal curled by his hearth. It sounded pathetic to his already tired ears. « Damn cat, just shut the hell up already! » he roared. Mrs. Norris grew silent abruptly. « Oh no, my sweet, I didn't mean that. Mew all you want, you pretty thing, » he said as she rushed over to her and began petting her left flank, meticulously kept clean by his hands.

Filch wasted all this magic binding Evangeline to that cat, that damn cat, and for what? He asked himself every night just before sleep finally claimed him. Just a cat who could talk for nine months about death. He should have let her die like normal people. He wished she died like normal people. He almost strangled the cat every night for those nine months, and when those nine months came, when the last bit of his power ended and Evangeline disappeared, he could remember every word she said. « Argus, remember the Raven. »

He remembered the Raven. He remembered the Raven every anniversary of the end of those nine months. He remembered how there would be nothing more between them, or between her and anybody else because she was nothing now. Sometimes he remembered those nights when they laughed over how melodramatic Poe seemed to make all of his works.

« She'll be laughing at me now, » Filch thought ruefully.

A crash sounded just outside the corridor. « You bloody Weasleys! You're going to be scrubbing the trophy room with your pinkies before I'm through with you! » Filch rubbed a fist roughly against his eye. He had children to handle.

_« And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor_  
_ Shall be lifted—nevermore! »_


End file.
